


I was still the sandstone cutting up your feet

by sawickies



Category: Crimson Peak (2015)
Genre: Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 21:55:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5472080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sawickies/pseuds/sawickies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A glimpse into the early life of Lucille and Thomas Sharpe. </p><p>M for explicit child abuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I was still the sandstone cutting up your feet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lizardbeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizardbeth/gifts).



> Hello! Happy Yuletide! I hope you enjoy this. The child abuse is pretty rough, though they're rather young so the incest isn't really a factor at this stage, which is why it isn't tagged. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Thinking back to before her father left had an almost dreamlike quality to it. Whether it was because she was so young when it happened, or because it was so incredibly different from her life now, she couldn't be sure. Watching Thomas tinker with the little toy machines he loved so much made her smile—he hand’t a care in the world, yet—but was it his youth or the fact that he didn’t remember much of the world outside the nursery that it was so? He couldn’t remember the grand parlor or the foyer, or yawning expanse of the estate, so he could not feel the walls of the nursery closing in on them like she did. His eyes were focused on the toys in front of him, his wild, childlike imagination making them new again with each day. He did not spare a glance at the old wallpaper, let alone two to be sure the pattern hadn’t really moved in the corner of his eye. 

“Thomas,”

He looked up from his toys, a wide smile on his innocent face.

“Thomas, do you remember our father at all?” It had been over a year now, at least. It was hard to keep track, sometimes, but it was growing cold again. The snow would fall soon, and the view from their lone window would once again turn crimson. Thomas was only six when he left, she was sure he’d begin to forget soon if he hadn’t already. Was it better if he did? Would he be happier if, soon, he couldn’t remember what their lives had been?

His face folded in concentration, the same serious expression he had whenever he played “repair man” with his toy truck. He thought hard for a moment, before whispering, “I think so,” so quietly she though he may have said nothing. He glanced back up to her, concentration softening a little.

“I remember him…smiling, in the room with all the people,” his smile was eager but unsure, as if he was hopeful he had passed a test. She smiled back, encouragingly, with a nod.

“Yes, the parlor. He and mother would host parties there, with lots of people.” Thomas’ eyes glinted. 

“Mother would play happy songs on the piano, and everyone would dance,” he added, the memories seemingly flowing steadily now. “Father would dance with the two of us.” Lucille’s smile broadened, but the abrupt sound of piano music startled them both. Thomas broke out into a grin once again, stumbling over some toys as he ran to the door. 

“Mother must be home,” he said, putting his ear against the door. “Do you hear it, Lucille?” Lucille nodded, nervously worrying her lip between her teeth. 

“Do you think she’ll come say hello to us today?” He pulled his face away from the door, looking at his sister earnestly. “Maybe she’ll eat dinner with us? When Mary comes to bring it?” She smiled, trying to tamp down the hope that blossomed in her chest at her brother’s excitement, knowing it was futile. 

“Maybe she will, Thomas.” He smiled again, pressing his ear back to the door. Closing his eyes, he sighed,

“The music she plays, it’s nothing like the party music,” he glanced at Lucille. “It’s sad.” He slid to his knees, letting the weight of his tiny body keep him proped against the door.

“I wish she would come up here and let us out when she comes home. Maybe, if we were all sat together in the parlor, she would play happier music.” His eyes were open, trained on a little finger as he traced patterns against the door in front of his face.

“We could all be happy together, instead of all alone.” Lucille’s heart twinged in her chest. She got up from her perch on the windowsill and knelt beside her brother, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“We’re not alone, Thomas.” His eyes slid to hers, glassy with tears. 

“We’re not alone because we have each other.” His lip quivered, tears threatening to fall. 

“Oh, Thomas,” she whispered, gathering him into her arms.

Below them, the piano music stopped, replaced with the creaking of the house under their mother’s feet as she made her way through the rooms of the house. Breaths held, they heard the squalling of the fairs, mother’s voice muffled as she spoke to someone—one of the house hands, probably. Her steps carried her to their door and past it, and Thomas wiped his eyes as Lucille sagged in disappointment. She cursed herself—she should know better by now. Soon one of the maids would come to give them a meal, or if they were lucky take them downstairs to the kitchen, but they would not see their mother tonight. 

 

 

A few days after their mother returned home, Mary, a young maid in the house, brought them new clothes and informed them they’d need to be washed and ready for a party that evening. They still hadn’t seen their mother—they heard her practice the piano nearly every night, heard her footsteps echo through the house, caught glances of her when they were brought down to the kitchen for meals, but the most Lucille or Thomas had gotten from her was a chilly glance as they caught her eye in passing. She had never been particularly affectionate—in fact, her cool demeanor was hardly that unusual. Before their father left, he had often been the one to engage them in activities, bring them into town to go shopping, that sort of thing. Still, the detached affect she had taken on since he left made Lucille’s stomach twist, and the dejected look on Thomas’ face broke her heart a little more each time. As such, when Mary brought them the news they were both thrilled, even though a nagging unease pressed on Lucille from the moment she closed the door behind her. Thomas, on the other hand, was all excitement and joy. 

“How many people do you think there will be, Lucille?” She was sure he had asked her this question at least three times already.

“I don’t know, Thomas.” There were fewer house hands on staff than there had been when Lucille was young, so she had the task of helping her younger brother bathe today in preparation. 

“Do you think it will be as many as there were before Father went away?” Lucille paused in her ministrations, hesitating as she remembered the bustling parlor and joyful faces gathered in their home what seemed like so long ago. She thought of her mother playing the piano—waltzes, mostly, with some other upbeat tunes that the guests would sing along to. Their mother would provide the music, but it was their father’s magnetism that drew people in. He would dance across the floor with the various ladies of the day, begin the rousing choruses of song, keep people invested in the activities. Without him, it was just pretty noise.  

“I don’t think so, Thomas, but we’ll see soon, won’t we?” Thomas smiled over his shoulder at her as she resumed, scrubbing over his shoulders. 

 

The party was not as large as they had been in the past, as Lucille had predicted. The parlor was full of chatter, an excited energy that had not been felt in the house in a long time permeating the room. Lucille and Thomas made their way around the room together, chaperoned by Mary and made to greet every guest at least once. Lucille’s dress was white with a red sash, her hair pulled back neatly in braids that wrapped into a knot at the back of her head. Thomas’ suit complimented hers with a red tie, hair slicked back neatly. All of the guests were ecstatic to see the siblings, many of the ladies fawning over Thomas’ charming smiles and giggles. With all the attention, he nervously clutched Lucille’s hand the entire time, squeezing nearly to the point of pain. It made her smile. 

The night progressed largely without incident, their mother taking them from Mary a few times to introduce them personally to closer family friends. Lucille remembered some of them. One such that she remembered was Mr. Braddock—a large, lumbering man in a slightly disheveled suit. He was stocky and tall, with thick fingers and a loud, deep laugh. With her mother’s hands on her shoulders, she smiled politely as the man squatted to be face-level with her.

“My my, little Lucille, how you’ve grown this last year! It’s been a long time.”

She nodded, a polite “Yes, sir,” slipping out barely above a whisper. His booming laugh startled her slightly.

“Still a quiet little thing, I see.” Lucille felt her face burn hot as she mustered another quick nod, though Mr. Braddock had moved on to Thomas by then.

“And you! Master Sharpe, I swear the last time I saw you, you were this big,” he said, holding his fingers barely an inch apart. Thomas giggled.

“You’re growing into the spitting image of your father, you are,” he continued, and as soon as the words were out of his mouth Lucille could feel her mother’s hands tighten on her shoulders. Lucille felt a chill sweep over her, and she dreaded whatever was about to happen next. Her mother’s cuttingly sharp voice nearly made her jump.

“Mr. Braddock, if you’ll excuse us, I believe it’s the children’s bedtime.” He stood and ruffled Thomas’ hair with a smile.

“If you insist, Mrs. Sharpe, but I do hope to see these lovely youngsters again soon,” he said with a wink before rejoining the rest of the party. With one hand still on Lucille, their mother grabbed Thomas by the shoulder as well and wordlessly began guiding them toward the staircase. When they got there, Mary swept out of the kitchen, offering to bring them up to the nursery herself. Lucille’s anxiety only increased when their mother refused, tugging them roughly up the stairs by their collars. Mary watched from the bottom of the stairs for a moment, Lucille noticed as she glanced back pleadingly, but their mother wasted no time in ordering her back to the parlor to be sure the guests were properly tended to in her absence. When Lucille glanced down the stairs again, Mary was gone.

 

They reached the nursery and their mother yanked the door open with violent force, shoving them both inside.

“Mother, what’s wrong?” Thomas’ tiny, worried voice made Lucille ache with sadness and with fear as she saw the hateful rage that flashed in her mother’s eyes.

She stepped slowly into the room after them, eyes trained in all of their cold fury on Thomas, who was now cowering against the windowsill. 

“What, what, what, could be the matter, little boy?” Lucille could see the tears in her brother’s eyes as their mother approached him, spine ramrod straight and body coiled tight with rage as she stepped forward. 

“What business have you, a child, acting as you do? Acting as if,” her fists clenched at her sides, “acting as if you are the most important person in the room? Drawing all attention to you, drawing all attention, drawing all the eyes in the room to you. For what? So they may watch you stutter over your words, may watch you giggle over every little—“ she completed the sentence not with a word, but with a hard smack across the face, flinging Thomas to the ground.

“Thomas!” Lucille rushed to him, hurried to gather him into her arms but she was not fast enough. Her mother grabbed her by the hair, tugging her braids out of the neat bun she’d crafted and dragged her away, tossing her back into the corner where she had been watching the horror unfold upon her brother. 

“You,” her mother pointed, face stern and cold, “stay exactly where you are.” Lucille could feel hot tears stinging her eyes, scalp burning where her mother had grabbed her, Thomas’ hiccuping sobs reverberating through her very bones. The woman turned back to the little boy, who was still looking at her fearfully.

“M-mother, I’m s-s-sorry, I won’t ever s-s-s-peak again if that’s what you—agh!” Her fingers threaded this time in Thomas’ hair, pulling him up from the ground and holding him eye-level with her. His legs kicked and he screamed, sobbing violently as he clawed at the arm holding him up. 

“You’re right, little boy,” her other hand came up and grabbed his face, squeezing his cheeks together. 

“You will never say another word to me, or to anyone else for that matter. You will never leave this room,” she gave him a hard shake,

“I will never see your little, ugly face ever again, do you hear me?” When he didn’t respond, she shook him again before dropping him unceremoniously to the floor. 

“Do you hear me, you little cretin?” She bent at the waist over his hunched, trembling form.

“It was bad enough I had to deal with you, the two of you,” her face snapped to Lucille for a moment, dark eyes full of iridescent rage, “when your father bothered to, to,” she turned away and straightened her back, staring out the window. She took slow, deep breaths for several moments, Thomas’ quiet sobbing the only noise in the room.

“Your father was filth, worthless, horrible scum, and you both,” she looked between them, eyes settling once again on Thomas, “you both, but especially _you_ , little boy,” she extended a foot using her boot to roll him onto his back and press firmly on his chest,

“You are fated to be just like him. From your eyes and hair, to your slimy charisma,” Thomas’ hands shoved at her boot, he looked to be struggling to breathe. Lucille crawled forward, but their mother once again turned to look at her with a sharp finger pointed. Lucille stopped, and after a moment their mother released Thomas from under foot and stepped back. She took another deep breath and turned on her heel without finishing her thought, slamming the door behind her, the tell-tale click of the lock following her out. Lucille immediately scrambled to Thomas, who was still sobbing in a heap on the floor. The nursery was far enough removed from the rest of the house that she was sure no one from the party would think twice, if they heard anything at all. They were alone, and they’d remain that way until one of the maids brought them food again in the morning. Lucille held Thomas close, rocking back and forth and gently stroking his hair.

“It’ll be alright, Thomas. You’re alright, my love,” she whispered quietly against him. Eventually his sobbing slowed to hiccups, and then the hiccups gave way to heavy breaths.

“Lucille,” his voice was so quiet, it was barely louder than his breathing.

“Yes, Thomas?” His breaths were still heavy and shaking.

“I’m s-sorry,” his voice broke, and she knew he was beginning to cry again,

“I’m so s-s-sorry you’re t-trapped here because of me, a-and she hurt you, a-and I’m—“

“Thomas, stop,” his voice was getting higher, she could hear he was becoming hysterical again. She leaned back from him and held his head between her hands.

“It’s not you’re fault, Thomas.” His chin was trembling, his cheek red and rapidly bruising under her hand. He brought his hands up and covered hers with his own.

“B-but mother s-said—“ Lucille shushed him.

“I don’t care what mother said, Thomas,” she shook her head. “You’re not to blame for this, alright?” His breaths were slightly calmer and he nodded between her palms. 

“Alright, let’s get changed, shall we? And then we can go to sleep and in the morning, we won’t even remember this night, alright?” He nodded again and she dropped her hands, moving to get up. He grabbed her hand as she did, blue eyes still shining with tears.

“Lucille?” She gave him a small smile and nodded for him to continue.

“Could we, I mean would you mind sleeping in my bed with me tonight?” He dropped his eyes to the floor, “I don’t want to be by myself,” he whispered, sniffling. Lucille knelt again, taking both his hands. 

“Thomas, look at me.” He slowly raised his eyes to her again.

“As long as I am alive, you will never be alone, do you hear me?” His eyes searched hers, and she thought in that moment he seemed so much older than just seven, just as she felt so much older than nine. He nodded gently, and she pulled him into a tight hug.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you, but I promise it will never happen again,” she whispered into his neck, “I love you, Thomas.” He held her tight, breathing softly into her hair for a moment before responding, “I love you too, Lucille.”

 

Below them, the melody of a waltz began to play. 

 


End file.
